Love is a gateway drug
by katelizabethw
Summary: One Direction, mostly Niall. A story about aspiring musicians, love and tea. Please bear in mind I'm not the best at summaries and not the biggest fan.


PROLOGUE

**I was feeling a little nervous. This was my first big gig and needless to say I knew this one was important. It was rumoured that some big producer was in the audience trying to act like one of the fans, but was actually looking for an artist to sign. I didn't know whether to believe it or not, but my instinct told me to be original. I looked at my lucky heather wrapped in a deep red bow and thought of my idol. My head was suddenly filled to the brim with thoughts about design, poetry, art, philosophy and my imagination was running wild. I knew. I knew what I was going to do. I quickly glanced at the clock; I still had an hour until I was supposed to be singing in front of hundreds of people. I could do this. I have time. I grabbed the makeup on my table and started painting – with my face as the canvas. In twenty minutes, my face was as white as a sheet and I started applying the black; two deep circles around my eyes, an upside down heart across my nose, and short streaks making their way from my left cheek, over my lips, to the right cheek. I had just covered my eyelids in black shadow when a stage attendant arrived at my open dressing room door. She spoke and gestured toward the general direction of the stage, but I didn't hear anything. Butterflies had definitely made their way into my stomach. I grabbed my white guitar and followed the girl. My guitar had been through a lot, but I took good care of it. The only embellishment it had on it was a piece of yellowing paper with the words 'good luck! Xx' written on it. Lots of people had asked me about it in the past, but I had never told. It was my secret, and it was a wonderful secret. I walked through the rabbit warren like corridor, following the attendant until we reached the wings. I heard my announcement and lots of people cheering and screaming. I remember what that's like. Waiting for the first performer to come one, literally bouncing with excitement and screaming so much that you're throat feels like sandpaper, but you don't mind, in fact you don't care because all the pain means that you're finally about to see the person who has got you through all these years, the roller-coaster years, through their beautiful song writing. And they don't even know it. And now those cheers were for me. I don't even know if I deserved them. But I walked on anyway. And that's how everything began.**

I was so excited for this gig, and I really wanted to have fun and just enjoy myself for once, but I knew I had to stay well hidden. After all, with me and Harry here we would bring attention to ourselves. But then again, maybe not. I looked around me, and people seemed as though they couldn't care less who they were standing next to; they just wanted to hear the music. This was where our fans and these kinds of fans were divided. The fans of Harry and I's band cared about image. These fans genuinely cared about the music; they didn't care what the song writer looked like as long they made good music. Whenever I thought about this, it saddened me. That's the whole reason I went on that bloody show alone. To avoid getting caught up in the mainstream top 40 chart. I wanted to be different. I wanted to be original. But I suppose, being in this boy band was my only chance into the music industry. But now, being in this world famous boy band has made me a reputation; the squeaky clean reputation that comes with being under eighteen. Maybe I could change this. My thoughts gradually started drifting away, and I only came back to reality when suddenly everyone around me was cheering. This must be the first act. A skinny girl about my age walked onto the stage, holding her guitar with slightly trembling fingers. Her fingers were so pale and had grooves in them where the strings had cut into her. She was wearing a kind of long, baggy jumper that came above her knees, with white bones against a black background, so it looked like she was x-rayed. She had flowery lace tights on and black converse. Her hair was simple; gently curled mahogany hair. But her face was the most surprising of all. She had painted a skull. It was terrifyingly good. It actually looked like a skeleton had just casually walked on stage and was about sing a couple of songs for us. I got over my shock as she began to play. Her voice was mesmerising, beautiful, ghostly, a little bit heart-bruised, but hypnotising everyone in the audience. I could see some journalists near the front, writing so rapidly it was though their life depended on it. Although I was glad she was going to be read about in NME or Q some other music magazine, my spirits were slightly dampened as I knew I was going to have to share her with the world.

After the gig, we were riding back to the house in a taxi. Harry looked over at me. "Seriously, mate. What is wrong with you? Ever since that girl came on stage, you look like you're stoned or something." "But she was amazing. Don't you think? Her voice was just..." I trailed off, smiling at the memory. "Oh. My God. You bloody love her don't you? You've seen her for an hour and you already love her! I know you're a fast mover, but come on!" I didn't reply. "Okay. Right. First of all, you don't even know her name. Second, you don't know where she lives. Third, if you did know those things, what the hell are you going to do about it anyway? You can't stalk her! And fourth, even if some kind of crazy relationship did blossom between the two of you, Simon wouldn't allow it. Not at this time. If you don't believe me, go and ask him. He's only a phone call away!" He ended it rather sarcastically and snappy. I still didn't reply and he got more agitated. He sighed in a huff and faced away from me, to stare at the window. I knew he was right. I had seen her for an hour. That's hardly enough time to start even a proper conversation. And anyway, I had only _seen_ her. I hadn't talked to her. But more importantly, she hadn't seen me. I was part of the crowd. Even if she had glanced my way, she probably didn't even acknowledge me. As I realised this, I slumped in my seat, recognising defeat. Harry sensed this, or maybe he had been watching, and he put his arm around me. "Hey. Never mind. You never know what'll happen in the future." "Yeah. Sure." I replied, rather cynically.

The days passed, but I didn't forget her face. I practiced with the rest of the band, I ate, I slept; I carried on with my life, but I didn't go twelve minutes without thinking about her. Soon, about two weeks had passed since that night. As I was lying in bed, I thought back to the gig. If only I remembered her name. I could find something out about her. I desperately tried to think. I know they announced her, I know they did. I would've remembered if I hadn't been thinking about our bloody fans. It was always about me. Why did I have to be so selfish! I was so angry at myself. I sat up in bed and turned the side light on. I didn't care who I woke up, I had suddenly remembered the journalists. They must have written down her name; to go in one of their magazines. I quickly opened my laptop and jabbed the power button. It couldn't turn on quick enough. As soon as the home screen appeared, I clicked on the internet. My fingers brushed over the cool keys as I raced to type what I searched for. I typed in the name of the smallish concert I had attended with Harry and the date it was held. As soon as the results had come up, I clicked on the first link. Then on the second. And then on the third. By that time I was getting a little frustrated, so I went back to the search engine and added the venue. This time, I was in luck. The first link gave a long article about the main band, which was who I had bought tickets to see, but then it also gave two small paragraphs about the female artist who had supported them. I breathed a sigh of relief.

**I woke up to the bright light streaming through my windows and onto my crisp white bed. I'd had that dream again. About that boy in the crowd. I remembered it perfectly; it was though someone had taken a picture and engraved it on my brain. How could I forget that dirty blonde hair, with the underlying streaks of dark brown, the cute button nose and the half smile on his lips as he heard me play for the very first time? I watched the dust motes in the beam of sunlight gently twirling around and around until they fell out of my line of vision. I watched them for about five minutes before I realised what I was doing. Somewhere in my sub consciousness, I didn't want to forget about that boy. **

****Please review! I don't know whether to continue this story :s Thanks for reading though :)


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